Saturday, January 03, 2009

The End

Finally. I've sat in front of the computer for most of the day writing, deleting, and rewriting the same last page. I couldn't understand why just finishing this silly thing was so hard until it occurred to me that this is the first time I've written a sequel. All of the cutesy, lovey-dovey stuff has been covered in the last book. I needed something different, something stronger even.

I've had all kinds of helpful suggestions from my in-house fans. Sam, my youngest, told me I was over complicating it, that all I needed to do was type the words "The End" and be done. Sam will get an A in Introduction to Logic someday, but we'll have to work on his closing arguments. Joseph, my thirteen year old, suggested Ninjas. Parties of Ninjas, he assured me, were always good. My husband highly recommended that I write him in as the handsome doctor who sweeps in and carries Sevin (the MC) off into the sunset. I once left Word open to a page of manuscript while I went off to take a shower. When I returned, he'd written himself into an action scene as the guy who saved the day. He's helpful like that.

The only useful suggestion actually came from The Mouth (my oldest) himself a talented writer (already better than I was at his age). "Are you planning on writing a third one?" he asked.

I told him this would depend on whether I could find an agent who would be interested in the first two. I needed a satisfying ending, I said, that wrapped up all the important questions, but left room for the possibility for more.

"Then it's easy."

Spoken like the guy who wasn't sitting behind the computer. "Oh sure it is."

He didn't bother to argue, just shrugged. "Evil never dies."

Evil Never Dies. I hate it when he's brilliant like that.

However those were the words I needed to hear and after that it was easier.

So today some six months and 80,000 words from where I began, I typed the words "The End" on Willow's Blood.

And, yes, after doing this four times, it still feels pretty darned good.

When you move on, please be sure to blog about your method of revision: a lot of people claim that it's a creative, rewarding experience -- I totally disagree, so I'd be interested in hearing your thoughts on it.

Is the Mouth the same boy who wrote the guitar arrangnement over Christmas? If so, now I'm doubly impressed.

Author of Sing

He could hear them, owl, rats, cats, foxes and woman, winged child breathing. All of them soulless husks. Yes.That was what he meant.Soulless. Sleep was an absence of soul, a light out in the attic and nobody home. He knew--death entered a little more with each dawn, just before the waking.Crept in so's nobody'd notice it, catch it and stop it. Not bold, death--but a weasel prowling. It took its time, but it came in all the same.